Many probably thought that Casey Stengel would eventually die, or maybe simply fade graciously into the history books, while still wearing his always baggy-legged flannel baseball uniform. The thought of a "retired" Casey Stengel almost seemed a classic oxymoron. The Yankees were surely wrong in thinking that their colorful top clown had grown too old for dugout strategy or for keeping a team in the spotlight as front-page fodder. Three Mets seasons of constant diamond entertainment, despite epic-proportion losing, had already established that the game had not yet passed the old master by.

As he approached his 75th birthday the Ol' Perfessor seemed to be rolling along strong as ever and still seemed to be sharp as a proverbial brass tack. The ceaseless comedy surrounding the Mets appeared more than anything else to be keeping him forever young. He had been one of the game's most rock-solid fixtures, in Brooklyn, New York, Boston for a spell, and then back in Gotham, for nearly half a century. Only Connie Mack had ever seemed a more timeless or indelible baseball figure.

But then the cruel fates shamelessly intervened in the most unexpected manner conceivable. On the eve of his landmark 75th birthday Casey was felled by a bizarre accident which occurred far away from the ballpark. For an old-timers' celebration at Shea on July 25, the beloved manager had donned his yellowed Brooklyn Dodgers playing uniform, and more birthday festivities were planned for Casey between games of the next day's doubleheader. Stengel retired on Saturday evening to his favorite after-hours haunt at Toots Shor's restaurant for more sessions of private partying with intimates that lasted late into the night. Before the evening was over, Casey somehow slipped and fell in the men's room, an accident to which he at first paid little heed. But after heading home with a companion (Mets comptroller Joseph DeGregorio) who lived only a few miles from Shea (perhaps assuring his chances of making it on time to the Sunday festivities), Casey discovered that his injuries were far more serious: a sharp pain in his hip indicated that he would be hospital-bound and not ballpark-bound in the wee hours of the next morning. It was quickly concluded that Casey was now left in no condition to carry on with his managerial duties.

It was Casey himself, not surprisingly, who quietly picked his own immediate successor, trusted coach Wes Westrum, who was hastily named as interim manager. Casey Stengel would live for 10 more years and make numerous public appearances at Shea Stadium and elsewhere around the city. But the New York Mets were never again quite the same lovable clowns or the same tolerated losers after Casey's perhaps overdue but certainly unanticipated 1965 departure.

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